Eluding Love
by Snippy-the-Sniper
Summary: John has been avoiding Sherlock for a few days now and Sherlock is determined to find out why. Johnlock warning, don't like, don't read.
1. Avoidance to Inhibiton

Sherlock Holmes rarely had a hard time understanding, well anything. He could deduce where you had been in the last 12 hours by examining your shoes and how well your marriage was by the state of your wedding ring. That was just how it worked. He could not however read peoples minds. Contrary to belief. Yes, he can tell when someone is feeling anxious or scared. That's only because the person's physical reactions betray them, though. It frustrated him to no end when he couldn't figure out things right off the bat. At this moment he couldn't comprehend his only friends' actions.

John had been avoiding him. For three days.

The detective wanted to know why. His last resort would be to ask John what was going on. He wanted to figure this mystery out. Besides, he couldn't even ask him if he wanted to. John was avoiding him that much. Countless times Sherlock had mulled over the events of the past few days, before said doctor decided to hide away. Amazingly, he hadn't shot the wall out of boredom (again), or played his 'screeching violin' as John liked to call it, at three am. There was always the chance that the detective had said something less than nice to John. It would explain the lack of John's presence around him. Highly unlikely though because the good doctor knew how inept he was with words. Especially when it came to dealing with others feelings or his own. So the possibility of his words causing John distress was very slim. The doctor always forgave him when his words took a hurtful undertone. He simply was not aware of how they sounded and John understood this. John understood him. No longer able to contain the frustration inside his mind, the detective got up off the couch to look for his gun.

John Watson was dealing with emotional turmoil at the moment. He couldn't think straight. It was like an annoying song you couldn't get out of your head, no matter how hard you tried. The only way you could get rid of it was if you ignored it. Blocked it out. This was different from a song, but he couldn't find any other way to deal with the situation.

Yes. John Watson, army doctor had fallen for Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world.

He would only admit it to himself. At first he had found it ridiculous that he had a crush on his flatmate. The doctor had shrugged it off, labeling it as an infatuation with Sherlock's brilliant mind, not the man himself. But oh how he was proven wrong. Soon everything about Sherlock was attractive. His ice-blue eyes, the wild curly ebony locks, those damn cheekbones. He distanced himself from Sherlock because he was afraid of his own feelings, and the fact that Sherlock did not harbor the same feelings toward him. He was positive that the detective did not see him as anything more than his one and only friend. John was perfectly fine with this. Almost.

He knew avoiding the taller man without giving good reason would frustrate him. He just couldn't handle being so close to Sherlock right now. Honestly, he was amazed the man hadn't noticed being _noticed_ by his flatmate. Steadily he walked up the stairs to their flat. John opened and closed the door as quietly as possible. Not that Sherlock wouldn't notice. He expected the calling of his name after the click of the door shutting resonated through the flat. Shockingly, he heard….nothing.

The past few days Sherlock would call his name for something. He would then proceed to make an excuse to leave Sherlock's presence and make a bee-line for his room.

Walking into the sitting room, he found said detective on the couch with four nicotine patches on his arm, with four new bullet holes in the wall to match. This was a bit not good. When Sherlock used nicotine patches, it was because he was having trouble with a case. If he shot at the wall he was extremely bored. So if you found both at the same time, that meant his friend was very frustrated or worked up about something. Maybe he had avoided the genius a little too much.

"Why have you been avoiding me, John?" Sherlock didn't move from the couch or even open his eyes as he spoke. He moved his eyes down toward the figure on the couch.

"I haven't been avoiding you. I've been busy."

"Don't lie to me. The only things consuming your time are your practice, which has been slow the past few days and finding ways to avoid me."

"I…" He couldn't get the words to come out right. He couldn't just tell him. Okay, he could. But he wouldn't. The detective would figure it out anyway, whether he told him or not. "I can't tell you."

Finally Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him. "Why not?" The taller man got off the couch and stepped over the coffee table to him, where he was standing next to his chair. Those icy-blue eyes bore into his as he waited for a reply. "I just can't. You should be able to figure it out."

**A/N: So what do you guys think? This is my first Sherlock fanfics so I hope I've kept them in character at least somewhat. I've been obsessed with this show and I just couldn't resist writing something with this pairing. They're just so freakin' adorable. This'll be a multi-chap fic but no more than 5 probably. Review and let me know what you guys think! Expect updates for my other stories soon. ~Edmy**


	2. Frustration and Realization

He wasn't angry with John.

Okay he was slightly angry with John. More of the anger was directed at himself for his inability to see what was going on in his friends' head. Then John challenged him.

"I just can't. You should be able to figure it out."

"I can't read your mind, John. Besides the only fact I have is that you've been avoiding me. Obviously there's a problem that has something to do with me. This problem is affecting you in a way where you cannot be in my presence."

John sighed as he saw the frustration building up in Sherlock. "Fine, I'll give you one hint."

Sherlock had his full attention on the shorter man, eager for new information.

"Think back four days ago to the Jacobs case, the day we finished it." As the detective went to pry for more information, John turned away and walked to towards the kitchen. Sherlock was left with his mind. It reeled back four days ago to replay the events of said day.

They had tracked down a wanted jewel thief, Andrew Jacobs. He was, apparently, too smart for Lestrade's team but not smart enough to escape Sherlock. John and he had found (broke into) the thief's hideout to look for clues. Jacobs came back sooner than expected. A chase ensued. At one point they got ahead of the thief and successfully captured Jacobs. They followed their post-case routine with Chinese take-out and crap telly.

But what had been different? What was John trying to point out?

Sherlock took residence on the couch again as he went though every minute of the day, bit by bit, breaking it down, looking for some sort of abnormality, a change in John's behavior. Then it was there, so obvious and unbelievable. He, Sherlock, missed it. The tell-tale signs he had see but not registered. And for the first and he hoped the last time, Sherlock Holmes felt like a complete idiot.

**Author's Note: How'd I do this time? I know it's pretty darn short but the next chapter will definitely make up for this one. It's insanely long. And I mean LONG. BTW: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or John Watson. Cause if I did, they'd obviously be gay. xD Til the next chapter~Edmy**


	3. Memories and Unquiet Minds

**A/N: Howdy there followers of this dorky little fanfics! Look the author's note is up here now! After four months of waiting…..[drum roll]….you get this shitty chapter. I truly am sorry about the wait but with college prep classes earlier on and then moving during the summer, I wasn't left with much time to do really much of anything except breathe. Enough of my babble, here's chapter 3! I hope you enjoy and as always I don't own Sherlock or anything else, ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. [BTW: The part written in italics is John's memory.]**

The army doctor could do nothing but watch as Sherlock dived into his Mind Palace, taking his clue and dissecting every part of it. He left him on the couch as he walked to the kitchen. The detective didn't notice.

John set a kettleful of water on the stove and two cups. Just in case.

The day he had decided to withdrawal from Sherlock Holmes was etched into his memory. The chase was something he always secretly enjoyed doing with Sherlock. Running through crowded streets, back alleys, and jumping from rooftop to rooftop made him feel younger but also alive.

That night had started out like that. Somehow it became something completely different.

_On this particular case they were after an elusive jewel thief that went by the name of Andrew Jacobs. Not even six hours into the case and Sherlock had found Jacobs hideout. Unfortunately Jacobs returned as they were searching the place. Jacobs ran for it and Sherlock took off after him, with John bringing up the rear. _

_They started closing in on him in a back alley when Sherlock suddenly turned to the right into another poorly lit alleyway. After a few feet the detective turned to the left into a much smaller alley. John lagged behind for he lacked legs that went on for eternity like someone he knew. As he entered the smaller alley, he saw no Sherlock in front of him. He slowed to a jog, whispering his flatmates' name. _

"_Sherlock?" _

_A familiar hand grabbed his good shoulder, pulling him towards the brick wall to his left. He was shoved back against said wall with his friend hovering over him. _

"_Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" _

"_The thief, Jacobs, was running to a dead end. His only option would have been to turn right into an alley that leads to one of the main streets. He wants to avoid people and attention so he'll take this alley back to try and loose us by going in a circle. We are waiting for him." _

_Sherlock looked down towards John. The detective had one of his genuine smiles plastered onto his face, the one that he only showed to Mrs. Hudson and himself. He cracked a smile even though he felt his pulse jolt and his chest tighten. This happened on rare occasions when Sherlock would shower him with applause or when that genuine smile was directed towards him. He knew right there, in that crappy alleyway, that he loved the man in front of him. The loyal, patient, loving doctor and the insufferable, impatient, enigmatic genius. Sherlock's eyes met with his and he was frozen. He wanted to look somewhere else, anywhere else. The doctor was sure those eyes could see right into his soul. As his palms began to sweat and it seemed as if they were the only beings left on the planet, reality came crashing through._

_Sherlock's head whipped around towards his right as they both heard the heavy footsteps of Jacobs approach. Those pale hands still rested on his shoulders, pushing him back as far as was physically possible so they could not be seen. John couldn't help but notice how much closer they were. Sherlock had him trapped. The detective leaned in to whisper in his ear, but all he could focus on was the way his warm breath felt on his neck. _

"_I'll step out and distract him. You'll then be free to come behind him unnoticed and render him unconscious with whichever method you see fit."_

_There was no chance for the doctor to reply. He only hoped that Sherlock hadn't underestimated Jacobs's abilities. Said criminal was dashing for what he thought would be escape and victory. Then Sherlock blocked his path, stepping right in the middle of the alleyway and into Jacobs' path. Jacobs came to a halt, face twisted into a grimace at his misfortune. _

"_Did you think you could escape from me? Thought you knew these streets like the back of your hand?" _

_John stood in the shadows, concerned for Sherlock's safety as he watched Jacobs slowly approaching the detective who at the moment, was rubbing his assumed victory in Jacobs' face. The man ignored Sherlock's snide comments at his intellect, unaware though of John's presence. The orange street lamp's light was caught by something in Jacobs's left hand. Like an animal ready to pounce, Jacobs made his move. He threw a right hook towards Sherlock. The detective ducked in time but wasn't quick enough to miss the knife. _

"_Sherlock!" _

_Sherlock lunged to the right, his upper left arm caught and slashed open by the knife. He instinctively clutched at his wound, catching himself before he fell on the dirty pavement. Jacobs back was now towards John whose cry of horror had gone unnoticed. As the criminal made to deal a finishing blow, John wrapped his right arm around Jacobs's throat, effectively cutting off the blood supply to his brain. They stumbled backwards as Jacobs tried to escape from the doctors' sleeper hold. John hit the brick wall hard, Jacobs using his body weight to try and throw him off. John's grip never faltered. In a last ditch attempt, Jacobs brought the knife up towards the arm wrapped around his neck. Sherlock seeming to have recovered from his episode went to his friend's aid, knocking the sharp instrument from Jacobs hand. Moments later John felt Jacobs body go limp. He let his arm unwind from around the man's neck and let him fall unceremoniously to the ground. He took a couple needed deep breaths before he looked to his friend, who was staring at Jacobs's unconscious body with the foulest, most loathsome look on his face. _

"_Sherlock." _

_The taller man faced him, the expression of loathing erased into one of concern. "Are you alright, John?"_

"_Fine, fine. Just a bump on the head. You however are bleeding." Sherlock's hand found the wound again but slowly, as if to hide it. _

"_I'll be fine. Only a cut."_

"_Like I believe that for a second."_

"_I'm always fine, John."_

"_You can't lie to me." Before Sherlock could protest, the army doctor had ahold of his arm, trying to examine the cut through the sliced clothing. Amazingly, the detective didn't squirm or move. He simply waited for the doctor's diagnosis. _

"_I'll have to look at in again when we get to the flat. From what I can see though he cut right into your deltoid muscle. You really shouldn't move it too much these next few weeks otherwise it's just going to take it that much longer to heal." It was too easy for him to slip into doctor mode. _

_He heard Sherlock sigh as he pulled out his phone to text Lestrade. "Chinese after we're done here?" Sherlock asked as he typed a reply to the D.I. _

"_Most definitely." _

_Blue flashing lights soon lit up the alleyways and the obnoxious sound of sirens echoed off the brick walls._

The whistle of the kettle called John back to reality. He quickly took it off the stove and poured the boiling water into his cup. A glance toward the detective told him the man was still deep in thought. Sherlock was sitting on the edge of sofa with fingertips pressed together perched below his chin, while confusion and frustration swirled in his eyes. John looked away from his best friend down into his cup of tea. He wondered if he had done the right thing. If he should have left things as they were. Sherlock would eventually figure this out and then their friendship, their relationship, would change. The doctors' head filled with 'what if's' and questions he couldn't answer. The warmth of the tea spread its' way through his fingers into his hands. Pushing back the questions, he debated going to his room or sit in his chair to wait the inevitable. His grip on the cup tightened. After a few moments standing in the doorway his feet chose for him, carrying him to his chair.


End file.
